


More than fine

by greenapricot



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Christmas fic in January, First Kiss, Huddling For Warmth, M/M, because what is time anyway, stranded in a snowstorm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:40:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28693350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenapricot/pseuds/greenapricot
Summary: The forecast predicted rain, apocalyptic amounts of rain, sure, but rain all the same. Which is not this: great big snowflakes coming down fast, illuminated by the headlights as white streaks in the darkness, as if they’re in a starship heading for warp speed, not a Peugeot with dodgy tyres trying to leave the Peak District at approximately fifteen kilometres per hour.
Relationships: James Hathaway/Robert Lewis
Comments: 16
Kudos: 78





	More than fine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mylastvow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mylastvow/gifts).



> Written for the Holiday/Winter tumblr prompts: Robbie/James, “Stop, your feet are cold!” and “Are you telling me we’re stranded?” sent by mylastvow. I only managed to include the second prompt in the fic, but the first one inspired the premise for the second half.
> 
> I think this wins the prize for prompt fic that I've written that got the most completely out of hand length-wise. Which is why I'm posting Christmas fic in mid-January.

The forecast predicted rain, apocalyptic amounts of rain, sure, but rain all the same. Which is not this: great big snowflakes coming down fast, illuminated by the headlights as white streaks in the darkness, as if they’re in a starship heading for warp speed, not a Peugeot with dodgy tyres trying to leave the Peak District at approximately fifteen kilometres per hour. 

The plan was simple enough. Drive up early Christmas Eve morning, get a statement from their witness in a village on the eastern edge of the Peak District National Park, then drive through the park to Manchester. James would take the train to Oxford in time for the midnight mass and Robbie would spend Christmas with Lyn and family. 

“It’s the altitude,” James says. He’s been poking at his mobile off and on since it started snowing, apparently trying to figure out when it will stop. “It’s raining in Manchester.” 

“Good for Manchester,” Robbie grumbles, tightening his grip on the steering wheel as a gust of wind blows snow sideways across the road in front of him. Not that he can see much of the road at this point. If it weren’t for the occasional marker and fences he’d hardly have any idea where the road was at all.

They should have taken the longer, lower elevation route. If the snow keeps coming down like this, they’re not going to make it to wherever it turns to rain. It’s too late to change course now, though. If he turns the car around, if he can even manage it on the snow-covered road, they’ll likely get stuck at the top of the peak. The only way out is through. And although it’s been slow going, they’ve got to be closer to Manchester than the village they started from by now. The road is at least heading downhill. 

Until it’s not. As the car starts up a slight incline, their speed slows even more, the tyres slipping on the slick road and Robbie has the sinking feeling that the only reason they had any forward momentum at all was down to gravity. He sees the snowdrift across the road before they hit it, tries accelerating to give them half a chance of pushing through, but there’s no traction, the front wheels get halfway into the drift and the car just stops, with a sort of poof. The tyres spin. The car doesn’t move forward.

“Damn,” Robbie says at the same time James says, “Shit.” 

The headlights embedded in the snowdrift cast an eerie glow across the snowy world. 

“I’ll give it a push,” James says, buttoning up his coat and turning up the collar. A swirl of snow wafts into the car when he opens the door. 

Pushing gets them nowhere, only spinning tyres and James’ feet slipping on the slick ground. James changes tactics and tries to dig snow out from around the wheels with his bare hands, but that doesn’t get them anywhere either. Robbie even gives backing up a go, but all the tyre spinning has packed the snow underneath the wheels down to ice. What little traction there may have been is now well and truly gone.

James returns to the car, snow-covered and defeated.

“Sorry, sir.” He rubs his hands together and holds them in front of the heating vent. His fingers are red with the cold. “The snow’s too deep. Even if we could get out of the drift and over this little hill I don’t think we’d get much further.”

“Are you telling me we’re stranded?”

“Seems that way.” James sighs. “I’m sorry. I know you were looking forward to spending Christmas Eve with Lyn.”

“Don’t be daft, it’s still Christmas Eve for hours yet. We can’t be that far from the main road.”

James pulls out his mobile, presumably to check how far the main road is and frowns down at it. “No signal.”

Robbie sighs. “Of course there isn’t.”

Shutting off the engine plunges them into darkness and the muffled sound of wind on snow. Robbie turns on the emergency flashers, grabs his holdall from the backseat, slinging it over his shoulder, and they set off. The drift is knee-deep, but the snow on the road on the other side is a couple of inches over ankle height. If they had boots, walking through it wouldn’t be so bad.

The orange glow of the emergency flashers blinking on and off follows them yards down the road into the swirling snow, giving the landscape an otherworldly quality. Snow gets up under Robbie’s trousers and down inside his shoes with every step. When they round the bend, the glow of the flashers recedes and the world becomes black and white. 

After a few minutes, Robbie’s eyes adjust. With everything coated in snow and the distant yellowy skyglow of Manchester through the clouds, it’s not as dark as it could be. He can just make out the road; a flat area of white between lumps of white that are stone walls, or fence posts, or trees. It’s slow going, and though trudging along in the dark and the falling snow isn’t ideal, that’s not the worst of it. The real problem is the unseen ice underneath the snow, forcing them to walk in short, shuffling strides so they don’t lose their footing. James seems more unsteady on his feet than Robbie is, walking as he is with his hands stuffed deep in his coat pockets. 

“Don’t you have gloves, man?” Robbie asks.

“Of course, I do,” James scoffs. 

“Put them on, then.”

“I have gloves.” James doesn’t turn to look at Robbie as he slide-trudges forward. “I just don’t have them with me.”

“You left them in the car?”

“I left them in Oxford,” James snaps. Which explains why he tried to dig the car out of the drift with his bare hands. Robbie didn’t give him long to sit in front of the heating vent before he started them walking. James probably never warmed up after the digging.

Robbie pulls off his gloves and thrusts them in James’ direction. “Here, take mine.” 

“There’s no need, sir. I’m fine.” James continues his shuffling steps forward, not looking at Robbie, head down and shoulders hunched against the wind. 

“You need them more than I do,” Robbie counters, waving the gloves in James’ direction. “I wasn’t digging in the snow. My hands are perfectly warm.”

“They won’t be if you give away your gloves.” James glances up at Robbie, then back at the ground intently as if he can see the ice through the snow if he glares at it hard enough. “No need for us both to be cold.” 

That’s about as much of an admission that James is cold as Robbie supposes he’s going to get. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, you can give them back when your hands are warmed up.” Robbie waves the gloves at James again. “Go on, then.”

“Sir,” James says, with more than a little bite. “I’m fine.” He speeds up his slipping strides, putting a bit of distance between himself and Robbie. 

James doesn’t look fine, he looks cold and miserable. Robbie sighs, pulls his gloves on, and trudges forward. In front of him, James looks like some great black shorebird, stuck in the wrong habitat; stooped shoulders and hands in his pockets distorting the lines of his coat, his long stork-legs picking and slipping his way through the white landscape. Robbie keeps an eye on him as they trudge forward; the way his slow, sliding strides begin to falter more than the ice under the snow would call for, the shivering that starts as the occasional shudder and becomes more and more frequent as the minutes wear on. 

The further down in elevation they go, the wetter the snow gets. After forty minutes or so of slow downhill walking, there is less accumulation on the road, but the steadily falling snow is mixed with rain. Cold raindrops slide down Robbie’s neck and under his collar. He wrestles the flimsy hood out of the collar of his anorak and pulls it on. It offers him only the smallest amount of relief. James, with his coat collar turned up but his head and ears bare, gets no relief at all.

The road descends into a stand of evergreens, which provides a bit of a break from the wind, but as the road gets steeper it also gets slipperier. One minute James is shuffling along ahead of him, the next, his feet slip out from under him and he plunges backwards, hands still in his pockets and nothing to cushion him as he lands on his back on the snowy ground, his head frighteningly close to the low stone wall that separates the road from a steep drop-off. 

Robbie shuffles and slides over to him as quickly as he can without falling himself.

“You all right, lad?” Robbie asks, offering James a hand up. 

James blinks up at Robbie, dazed, but allows Robbie to help him up. He looks more than a little unsteady on his feet as he shakes snow off of himself. There is a tremor in his hands as he brushes snow out of his hair. 

“Did you hit your head?” Robbie asks.

“No, I’m fine,” James says, less convincingly than any of the previous times. He shivers and stuffs his hands in his pockets, hunches down into his coat, and starts off again with slow, shaky steps. 

Robbie’s buying this ‘fine’ business even less now than he was before. James’ coat may cut a nice figure, but it’s not as warm as Robbie’s anorak. He has no gloves and he spent half an hour digging in the snow trying to get the car moving before they began their trek. James is shivering, his steps are stumbling and uncoordinated. He’s trying to hide it, but from the look of him, he is dangerously cold, and the tumble he just took isn’t helping matters. James is going to need to get somewhere warm sooner rather than later, and if the stubborn sod won’t look after himself, Robbie will have to do it. 

He should never have suggested they go walking off into a snowstorm without proper kit. They should have stayed in the car with the engine running. Likely, they’d have run out of petrol before the night was through, but it would have been enough to get James warmed up after trying to dig them out of the snowdrift. Standing there in the dark and the blowing snow as he watches James slowly stumble away from him, reality begins to sink in. Even if they make it to the main road soon, there’s no guarantee of a mobile signal and it’s unlikely that anyone will come by on Christmas Eve. 

Robbie looks back the way they came, their footprints leading up round the bend into the dark, then down the hill into undisturbed snow. Is it unreasonable to hope that retracing their footsteps won’t take as long as it did for them to walk this far? There is undoubtedly a dry place at the top of that trail of footprints and he has no idea what’s at the bottom of the hill.

“James,” Robbie calls out over the wind. James doesn’t acknowledge him. He’s managed to put a fair amount of distance between them while Robbie was contemplating their options. It’s equally as likely that he didn’t hear Robbie as it is that he’s ignoring him. “James,” Robbie says again, louder. James stops and turns in Robbie’s direction. 

“What?” His voice sounds shaky, the shivering is worse.

“We should go back to that car.”

James doesn’t say anything, just turns and starts walking downhill again. He almost falls twice before Robbie catches up to him. 

“We need to go back to the car.” 

“I heard you,” James says, still not stopping. 

“Hey.” Robbie reaches for James’ arm. 

James jerks away, shooting Robbie a glare over his shoulder. “I told you, I’m fine,” he snaps. 

“I don’t think you are.”

“How would you know?” James growls. He’s stopped walking now at least. 

“I’m a detective, remember?” Robbie says, trying to lighten the mood. It doesn’t work, but James doesn’t try to shake Robbie’s hand off his shoulder as he gently turns him around either. “Come on.”

James shakes his head through the shivering, brow creased in confusion. “You wanted to get to Lyn’s. It’s Christmas Eve.” 

“I know, but I don’t think that’s going to work right now. Come on. You need to get somewhere warm.”

“It’s Christmas Eve,” James repeats.

“Aye, and Lyn will understand.”

James shakes his head again, looks at the ground then up at Robbie. “But you were looking forward to it.” 

“Aye, I was. But sometimes things don’t work out the way we planned.”

“Tell me about it,” James huffs. He stands there for a moment, shivering and gazing into the middle-distance, then shrugs. “Fine, whatever,” he says dismissively, and starts up the hill, following the path of his own footprints. 

Robbie is about to follow when something on the other side of the stone wall separating the road from the steep drop-off catches his eye. Down there, nestled in amongst the evergreens, is something squarish. It’s probably nothing, a large rock covered in snow or some fallen trees, except there is a sort of triangular-shaped bit that looks like it could be a roof. Is there such a thing as a snowstorm mirage? 

“Wait! James. Hold on a minute,” Robbie calls.

James stops and turns around. “You changed your mind again?” he says almost scornfully. Robbie ignores the way James’ tone stings. Irritability is an early sign of hypothermia, it’s not personal. 

“I thought I saw something. Stay put, okay?” Robbie brushes snow off the stone wall and plops his holdall down. 

“Fine.” James shuffles over and sits down on the wall with a huff, hunching in on himself with his back to the wind. Robbie climbs carefully over the wall. 

Halfway down the slope, Robbie can see that the shape is, indeed, a very small building. One of those tiny house things. He scrambles far enough back up the slope to get James’ attention and tells him to climb down and bring the holdall. James slips on his way over the wall, dropping the holdall which slides and rolls down the steep hill, landing next to the door of the tiny cabin. Then he loses his footing and slides halfway down himself. Robbie winches as James skids to a stop, a great puff of snow landing on his head. 

“You all right, lad?”

“Yes,” comes James’ downright surly reply. “Stop asking me that.” He gets up slowly and picks his way the rest of the way down the hill, using his bare hands to steady himself against the snowy ground. His shivering threatens to make him lose his balance again. 

Up close, the cabin looks like the sort of thing that’s meant to be sat on a trailer, but Robbie can’t see how or why anyone would have brought it here to the bottom of this steep hill. He brushes snow off the two steps up to the door with his foot and tries the handle. The door swings open. 

It’s not any warmer inside the cabin than out, but it’s dry and there’s no wind. Robbie pulls out his mobile and uses it as a torch to look around. It is a truly tiny house, only about three meters on the longest side. It seems to be set up as some sort of research station. There is a big window along one side with a bench underneath full of measuring equipment; wires dangling below in a space that probably once contained a battery or a power source. He switches on each of the lamps on the bench in turn. Nothing happens. No electricity, then.

On the other side of the room, is a tiny stove, a stack of wood and some newspapers, and two metal folding chairs with cushions on the seats. In the far corner, he finds a long reinforced plastic box that must have once held the equipment on the bench. Now it contains a couple of blankets, a first aid kit, a box of matches, and some protein bars. 

When Robbie finishes his perusal of the space, James is standing by the door looking a bit lost. He’s not shivering any longer, but Robbie doubts he’s any warmer, especially after sliding down the hill. Not a good sign. He hopes that James’ lips aren’t as blue as they look in the mobile phone torchlight. 

“Get those wet things off,” Robbie says. He sets his mobile on one of the chairs so the light shines toward the woodstove and starts making a fire. When he looks up after laying in some newspaper and pieces of kindling, James still hasn’t moved. “Go on, then. If you’re not hypothermic now you will be soon, standing there in wet clothes.”

“I’m not,” James says as if Robbie’s suggestion that he may have hypothermia after walking through a snowstorm in inappropriate clothing, then falling in the snow twice, is akin to accusing him of an embarrassing personal failing. Though, this being James, in all likelihood that’s exactly what he’s thinking. 

“There’s a jumper and a pair of jeans in the holdall,” Robbie says. “They’ll be too big for you but they’re dry.”

James lets out a put-upon sigh and bends down to open the holdall. Robbie turns back to the stove again, lights the paper, and feeds sticks into the growing flames. Behind him, he can hear the sound of wet fabric hitting the floor, James pulling things out of the holdall, and no small amount of cursing about buttons. Robbie is tempted to lend a hand but he has no illusions about how James will react to that, with the mood he’s in. Instead, he leaves the stove door open to give them better light and goes over to the box in the corner. He pulls out the two blankets—one thick, brown, scratchy wool and the other bright red, fuzzy fleece—and the protein bars. 

When Robbie brings the blankets over, James is standing by the woodstove, one hand held out to the warmth, the other clutched at the waistband of Robbie’s too-big jeans. The garish design of the jumper looks no less ugly on James than it had when Robbie took it out of the box Lyn sent—with instructions that he was to wear it on Christmas Eve. It’s far too large around the middle and hangs off James’ shoulders, but the sleeves don’t quite reach his wrists. The jeans are too short, exposing James’ bare ankles even while they sit perilously low on his hips. He looks ridiculous but he does look warmer. Robbie averts his eyes from the strip of skin visible between the top of the jeans and the bottom of the jumper. 

“Here.” Robbie wraps first the fleece then the wool blanket over James’ shoulders and pulls one of the chairs right up next to the stove. “Sit.”

James sits in the chair without comment, clutching the blankets with both hands and pulling them tight around himself. He looks utterly miserable in the flickering firelight. Robbie leaves him to it and goes to pick James’ wet things up off the floor. He must really be in a bad way if he’s left his suit in a pile. 

James is shivering again when Robbie pulls the other chair up next to him. 

“How are you feeling?” Robbie asks. 

“Cold,” James says through chattering teeth. “But maybe less cold than before.” 

“Good.”

Now that James is settled, Robbie takes off his own wet shoes and socks. As soon as he gets his feet near the fire, he feels much better. In his concern for James, he hadn’t realised how cold he was. When he can properly feel his feet again, he retrieves the holdall and fishes out his pyjamas bottoms, trading them for his damp suit trousers. 

James snickers when he crosses in front of him to get wood for the stove. 

“You got something to say?” Robbie asks with mock-indignation.

“No, it’s just,” James shakes his head, looking toward the fire with a shiver. He seems to have a bit of colour in his cheeks, but that may only be the glow of the flames. “Pyjamas and an anorak is quite a look.”

“You’re one to talk,” Robbie says, but the joke falls flat and James is back to looking morose again. 

Robbie opens a protein bar and hands it to James. He pokes one hand out from the blankets and takes it, chewing sullenly.

“I’m sorry,” James says when he’s finished eating, pulling his hand in under the blankets again and resettling them around his shoulders. 

“For what?” 

James shrugs, or at least Robbie thinks it’s shrug underneath the blankets. “I’ve ruined your Christmas.”

“How’s that, then?” 

“You weren’t stupid enough to fall in the snow and you’ve got a warmer coat. And gloves. You could have kept walking, but now you’re stuck here with me.” He sighs and pulls the blankets tighter. “If you go now you could still make it to Lyn’s before the end of the night.”

“And leave you here alone?”

“I’ll be fine. It’s warm enough in here and Lyn must be worried. You should go.”

“You want me to go?” 

It’s a simple enough question but James grimaces as if Robbie has asked him to define the true meaning of existence. “We’re technically off duty now, sir,” he says quietly. “I’m not your responsibility anymore.” 

All these years and James thinks the only reason Robbie cares enough to get him out of the cold and make sure he doesn’t die of exposure is because of a work responsibility? The lad isn’t half infuriating sometimes.

“Don’t you think I’d rather be here and sure you’re not freezing to death on the side of a mountain than at Lyn’s Christmas Eve ugly jumper party?” Robbie says, not even bothering to hide his frustration.

“Is that what this is about?” James gestures toward his chest and the jumper that’s now hidden under two layers of blankets. 

Robbie sighs. “Aye. But that’s not the point.” He hadn’t meant to snap at the lad, especially when he’s hypothermic and so obviously miserable. Robbie half wishes he had invited James to Lyn’s for Christmas as Lyn suggested and at the same time is glad that he didn’t. No one else has the ability to get him wishing for opposite things at once the way James does. 

He wouldn’t have minded spending extra time with James over Christmas. He’d rather enjoy it, come to that. But he also didn’t want James to feel obligated to break his own plans to spend time with him. He takes up enough of James’ time as it is. James is young, he should be spending time with people his own age, not with his old governor. And why would he want to spend Christmas with someone else’s family anyway?

“What is the point?” James asks.

“This trying to sacrifice yourself for the great good or whatever this is, it’s not necessary.”

“I’m not trying to sacrifice myself,” James says in a small voice, bowing his head and huddling down further into the blankets. 

“Okay,” Robbie says, gently. 

“I just— I know you were looking forward to Christmas with Lyn. I hate to be the reason you miss spending time with your family.”

“I’m only missing tonight. I don’t usually get to spend Christmas Eve with them anyway. This’ll be no different to any other year.” 

James bows his head further. “That only makes it worse. If it weren’t for me, you’d get extra time with your family. I’m sorry.”

“Hey. James.” Robbie reaches for James’ shoulder and gives it a gentle pat. “There’s nothing to apologise for, man. You’re my friend. My best friend, come to that and I—” 

James’ head snaps up. “I’m what?”

“My best friend. I spend more time with you than anyone else.”

“Oh,” James sighs. “That’s work though.”

“And pints after work and takeaway at mine and our squash games.”

James readjusts the blankets, shrugging Robbie’s hand off his shoulder in the process, which may or may not be deliberate. “I’m sure plenty of inspectors have pints with their sergeants.”

“Did you with your previous inspectors?”

“No, but—”

“Neither did I, James. Not like we do.” 

James looks up at Robbie, his eyes wide with disbelief. “You’re serious?”

“Of course I am, lad,” Robbie huffs. How can someone so brilliant be so blind to his own worth? “You’re my friend,” Robbie repeats. “And you need help and I’m happy to give it.” 

“That’s—” James lets out a deep shuddering sigh. Robbie can’t tell if it’s a reaction to his statement or the renewed shivering that seems to have taken hold of him. “I hate to need it.”

“A wise woman once told me that needing help doesn’t make you weak,” Robbie says.

“Did you listen to her?”

“Not right then, but eventually.”

“Laura is smarter than us,” James says, with the tiniest hint of a smile.

“Aye, she is. We’re lucky she puts up with us.”

James sighs again but there’s less weight to it this time. He does a complicated wiggle under the blankets and moves his chair closer to the fire. 

“You still cold?” Robbie asks.

“Yeah.” Another sigh. “It’s like the cold has seeped into my bones. I can feel the fire but it’s not making me warmer.”

“Right,” Robbie says. “Your core body temperature is still too low. Time for drastic measures.”

“This isn’t drastic measures?”

“Nope.” 

Robbie gets up and pulls his pyjama top out of his holdall, then takes off his anorak and suit jacket, spreading them both on the floor in front of the woodstove. He removes his tie and shirt, which is a little damp at the cuffs, leaving his undershirt on, and buttons his pyjama shirt on over it. Then he assesses the remaining wood; there’s not much, but it should last the night if he’s careful about it. He adds two smallish logs to the fire, takes the cushion off his chair, drops that on the floor as well, and shuffles everything a little bit closer to the stove. James watches with curiosity which turns more and more wary as Robbie goes.

“Up you get.” Robbie prods James in the shoulder. “You lie closest to the fire.”

“Sir, I don’t—” 

“Oi, none of that. You’re sitting inches from the stove and you’re not getting warmer, you need another source of heat.” 

A host of emotions flicker across James’ face as he looks from Robbie to the makeshift pallet on the floor. He looks as if he’s about to protest, but instead he sighs and gets up off the chair with the blankets still wrapped around him. Robbie grabs the cushion off James’ chair and plops it down on the floor as well. James lies down, shifting in his blanket cocoon, bare feet and ankles sticking out. Robbie never even offered him a fresh pair of socks. Some job he’s doing getting him warmed up. He fishes the woolliest socks he’s got out of his holdall and tosses them to James. 

“Cheers.” James’ teeth begin chattering again as he bends over, still half wrapped in the blankets, and tries to pull the socks on, but his hands are shaking and the blankets are all bunched up and in the way.

“Here, let me.” Robbie crouches down by James’ feet. 

James gives Robbie a startled look but hands the socks over and rewraps himself in the blankets. “Thanks,” he says, unhappily. “You don’t have to.”

“I told you already, I want to.” 

“I know. I just…” James’ trails off. 

Robbie waits for him to finish his sentence but nothing is forthcoming. He takes James’ cold foot in his hand, pulling the sock on and up around the curve of his heel. James lets out a small sigh that’s almost a gasp when Robbie brushes his ankle with his fingers as he pulls on the second sock. Robbie tries not to think too much about how James’ feet are as long and elegant as his hands.

“Right,” Robbie says, moving back so James has room to lie down. “You lie facing the fire and I’ll lie behind you.” 

He expects James to protest again but he only rearranges the blankets so there’s space for Robbie to get under them as well, then lies down with his back to Robbie. Robbie shuffles forward until his chest is just touching James’ back, bending his knees to mirror James’ and keep their feet under the not quite long enough blankets. James stiffens when Robbie drapes his arm over his waist, his hand coming to rest safely on the floor in front of James. 

“Sorry,” Robbie says. “The closer together we are the faster you’ll warm up.” 

“I know,” James says, shivers jostling his shoulders against Robbie’s chest.

“I could—” Robbie starts. 

“No, it’s fine. Really,” James says. 

Robbie just about believes him this time. James relaxes slowly, his shivering already less now that they’re tucked in as they are. Robbie tries his best to relax as well, to think only of the practical necessity of what they’re doing and ignore the urge to wrap his arm around James properly and pull James to him. Robbie watches the flames dance in the stove, listens to the wind outside and James’ breathing. Lyn’s party must be in full swing by now, the house warm with people and the baking she would have done earlier in the day. Twinkling fairy lights and carols on the radio and everyone toasting each other and the season. And Robbie finds that despite the circumstances, he’s glad to be here in the quiet with James, truly glad. 

It’s not late, Robbie isn’t particularly tired despite the long walk in the snow, but there’s something about being huddled together like they are that makes him reluctant to speak. James seems to be of similar mind. As they lie there in the growing warmth, James’ shivering continues to lessen until there’s only the occasional tremor, then stops altogether. His breathing evens out. Robbie is sure James must have fallen asleep until he stirs again, curling up tighter, bringing his legs closer to his chest which presses his bum into Robbie’s front and he’s suddenly very aware of how thin the fabric of his pyjama bottoms are. He pulls away the slightest bit.

A few minutes pass. James shifts around a bit more and sighs. “You awake?” 

“Aye,” Robbie replies. “Not the most comfortable spot for sleeping, this.”

James lets out a tiny huff of a laugh and another sigh. “Did you mean what you said earlier?” he asks in a quiet voice.

“I said a lot of things,” Robbie says, equally quiet. He’s not sure where James is going with this, but there is a seriousness to his tone, a weight to it. There is a lot more lurking under the surface of that question than James is letting on.

“You’re really okay with it? Being stuck here with me, instead of being with your family?” Ah, still fretting about that, is he?

“I’d rather no one was stuck anywhere,” Robbie says, delicately. “But, of course, I’d rather be here with you, sure that you’re safe, than be with Lyn and have there be any chance at all that you weren’t.” 

“Huh.” 

James doesn’t say anything for long minutes. Someone who didn’t know him as well as Robbie might think he was drifting off to sleep, but Robbie can almost hear the wheels turning in that big brain of his. There are so many things Robbie could say, so many things that the false intimacy of being snuggled up together makes it feel like it might be possible to say. Leaving James to his own devices and going on to Lyn’s on his own had never crossed his mind as a possibility. Of course, he will do whatever he can to keep James safe, in whatever way, and not only from hypothermia. James means so much more to him than the words _friend_ or _sergeant_ or even _best friend_ can possibly encompass, but he’s not sure how to say any of that out loud. And even if he did, he’s sure James wouldn’t want to hear it. 

“I guess,” James says after a while. “It’s hard to believe that you…” He sighs again. “If I had a family that actually— I wouldn’t want to give that up for anything.”

Christ, the lad is just about breaking his heart. “James,” Robbie says, tightening his arm around James’ waist in an approximation of a hug. “You do have that.”

“How do you figure?”

“Or well, you could,” Robbie says. “I never asked you because I didn’t think you’d want anything to do with it, but Lyn invited you to Christmas at her house.”

“She what?” James rolls over to face Robbie, giving him a searching look. He’s expecting this to be a wind-up. How many people have done that to James in his life that he would expect that of Robbie too?

“She wanted me to invite you. But when I asked what you were doing for Christmas you had all your plans about midnight services and the band playing with the carolers. I didn’t want you to feel obligated so I— I didn’t mention it.”

James lets out a sad huff of a laugh. “The carolers was last week. You assumed and I didn’t set you straight.” James sighs. “I don’t want your pity.” 

“I’m not— James, I don’t pity you.” 

“I don’t see why not. Lyn clearly does.”

“No. No, she— She knows you’re single and don’t have any family nearby but she only wanted— I think she misses the big Christmases we used to have when all of Val’s family would come down. There were so many cousins and the house was full of people and…” And this is the sticking point, isn’t it? The piece that very well may mean something to James but is so hard to say, especially when they’re snuggled up together like this. But James is looking at him with such sadness as if he still doesn’t believe anything Robbie is saying. He thinks Robbie is placating him. “She said she wants to meet the man that I’m always talking about, see if you live up to, I believe she called it, my glowing reviews.” 

James swallows. He looks Robbie in the eye, then his gaze darts away and he curls down into the blanket, his face completely in shadow, and Robbie can no longer make out his expression. 

“You talk about me all the time,” James says into the space between them. 

“Aye, I do.”

“And it’s not to complain?”

“Of course, not. What do you think—?”

James cuts him off. “I think that there are things that I want and things that are true and they aren’t the same thing.”

“Things that you want?” Robbie asks. There is something charged in the air between them, in the small, warm space under the blankets, like they are holding something precious and delicate and one wrong move may shatter it forever.

“They’re not easy things. I’m not an easy person.”

“I’m well aware. Hasn’t bothered me yet.” Robbie hesitates, rubbing his hand gently along James’ hip and over his lower back. James doesn’t retreat from the touch, if anything he moves into it. “Can you tell me? Those things?”

James lets out a shuddering sigh and looks up at Robbie. “Maybe some of them.” He pauses, steeling himself for the next part. Robbie stays silent and waits, resisting the urge to prod. If there’s anything he knows about James it’s that he’ll either get there in his own time or not at all. James looks away again, down into the dark of the blankets and the scant space between them.

“It’s not things that I want,” James says, barely above a whisper. “So much as a thing,” a pause. “A person,” another longer pause. “You.” James tilts his head up and meets Robbie’s gaze. He looks terrified and sadder than Robbie has ever seen him as if he’s prepared to have his heart ripped to pieces. By Robbie. Robbie doesn’t ever want to be the person to do that.

“James,” Robbie says, hushed. “When you say you want me, you mean not as your inspector, not as your friend. But something more?”

“Yes,” James replies, solemn, like a vow.

“Well that’s all right then,” Robbie can’t help but smile. “I want that too.”

James stares at him open-mouthed, the picture of astonishment. And then he smiles too. A bright, beautiful smile that Robbie only has the pleasure of seeing on very rare occasions. “You do?”

“Aye, lad.” 

“But you never—?”

“Neither did you, I might point out.” The delicate thing between them grows stronger as James’ smile grows still more brilliant.

“Okay,” James says, still smiling, lifting his head off the cushion. “Okay. Can I kiss you?”

“Please.” 

James brings his hand to Robbie’s cheek, almost reverently, then presses his lips to Robbie’s; tentative at first, then insistent. Robbie wraps his arm around James, stops resisting the urge and pulls their bodies flush against each other. James moans into Robbie’s mouth, pressing closer still, and Robbie gets lost in it, the two of them together. They fit somehow, despite James’ gangly limbs and Robbie’s old bones. He hardly feels the hard floor beneath him or the cold air when the blanket slips down off their shoulders as James rolls on top of him. 

And James wants him, he can feel how much in every tiny, stifled noise of pleasure James makes in the back of his throat, in the way his hands roam Robbie’s body, gentle caresses and insistent tugs, getting his fingers under the collar of Robbie’s pyjama shirt and into Robbie’s hair. 

Robbie hasn’t been kissed like this since those first heady months with Val when everything was bright and new and every second they weren’t touching was an eternity. Even kissing Laura was never like this. And maybe he should be having some sort of sexual identity crisis about this, about how kissing his very male sergeant—as evidenced by the hard line of James’ interest pressing against him—makes him feel the same as kissing his wife had, but he wants James, and James wants him, and he’s too old for second-guessing. 

He loves James. The certainty of it settles in his chest, his gut, the tips of his fingers, as he strokes James’ skin up under the jumper and revels in the sounds James is making above him, the weight of James on top of him. The sudden realisation that he doesn’t ever really want to not be with James.

“Robbie,” James gasps, breathless. “Robbie,” pressing kisses to Robbie’s jaw, his throat. “Tell me this isn’t a hypothermia induced hallucination.”

“It’s not.” 

“You’re sure.”

“Absolutely.” Robbie slides his hands from where they’ve come to rest at James’ hips, up along his back to his shoulders.

“Good,” James sighs, resting his head on Robbie’s chest. “Good.”

“James, you’re trembling.”

“I’m not.” James shakes his head against the fabric of Robbie’s shirt. “Shivering.”

“You should have said something.”

“Didn’t really notice before.”

Robbie lets go of James for just long enough to pull the blankets up from where they’ve fallen down around their waists and tuck them in over James’ shoulders. Then he wraps his arms around him again. The lad’s still shivering, though.

“As nice as this is,” Robbie says. “I think you’ll be warmer the other way.” 

“Mmm, I suppose.” James shimmies his hips, pressing his whole body down onto Robbie’s and Robbie can’t help but groan. “But I do like this.” 

“Me too, lad. But later.”

“Later.” James smiles down at him. “Is that a promise?” 

“Aye, you can hold me to it.” Robbie pats the space next to him, closer to the fire. “Go on, roll over.” 

James leans up and plants a quick kiss on Robbie’s lips—which turns into a bit more than a quick kiss—then rolls off Robbie and onto his side facing the fire. The flames have died down quite a bit while they were distracted. No wonder James is cold. Robbie slides out from under the blankets, to a soft sound of disapproval from James, shifts the coals a bit and adds a couple more logs. 

When Robbie crawls under the blankets and spoons up behind him again, James is still shivering slightly. Robbie presses in as close as possible, and James pushes back toward him, his bum firmly against Robbie’s crotch. Robbie lets out a satisfied groan as James lets out a little hum of pleasure. 

“How did you get so warm?” James asks.

“It’s the northern blood.”

“Mmm.” James snuggles closer. “I like it.” 

They settle in, as comfortable as they can get with only a few layers of fabric between them and the hard floor, which is somehow much more comfortable with James pressed flush up against him. James wiggles his bum against Robbie’s front, slides one foot between Robbie’s claves so their legs are entwined, and relaxes into Robbie’s embrace. Between the fire and Robbie’s body heat, James is going to be fine. And more than that, they are going to be fine, the two of them. More than fine.

“Just so you know,” Robbie says into the nape of James’ neck. “When we get out of here tomorrow I’m not dropping you at the train station. You’re coming with me to Lyn’s.”

“I won’t be imposing?” James sounds hopeful and still a tad unbelieving, even after all the snogging. 

“Told you, she invited you.”

“But she’s not expecting me.” James tilts his head up, looking at Robbie over his shoulder. 

“Doesn’t matter. She’ll be chuffed. She always makes far more food for Christmas dinner than three adults and one toddler can eat anyway.” 

“If you’re sure.” James rests his head back on the cushion.

“I am. Very sure.” Robbie punctuates his statement with a kiss to James’ neck, just above the collar of the ridiculous jumper.

“In that case, I’d love to,” James says. Robbie can hear the smile in his voice even though he can’t see his face.

Time passes in the glow of the fire and the warmth under the blankets. James’ shivering subsides again, this time for good. Robbie dozes. He thinks James does too. Sometime, in what must be the middle of the night, Robbie gets up and adds more logs to the fire. James stirs when Robbie returns to their blanket cocoon. 

“Sorry to wake you,” Robbie says when he settles in again. 

“‘S all right. Wasn’t really asleep.”

“You’re warmer though?”

“Yes, much.” James snuggles into Robbie’s arms. He’s quiet for a moment, then asks, “What will you tell Lyn?”

“That I asked you to Christmas dinner and you said yes.”

“No, about—” James slides his hand over Robbie’s hand where it’s draped across his thigh and entwines their fingers together, pulling both their hands up to rest over his heart.

“The truth,” Robbie says, squeezing James’ hand.

“She invited me as your sergeant. You’re not worried that she’ll…”

“No, I’m not.”

James twists in Robbie’s arms so he can see Robbie’s face. “Not even a little?”

“Not even a little,” Robbie reassures him. James looks mollified when he rolls over again. Robbie pulls him in close. “I get the feeling Lyn may have suspected anyway, the way I always go on about you.” Robbie presses a kiss to the nape of James’ neck. “Get some sleep, soft lad. Tomorrow’s Christmas.”

“As far as I’m concerned it’s already Christmas,” James says, squeezing Robbie’s hand again where he’s still got it clutched to his chest. “And I’ve got everything I could ask for. It’s a Christmas miracle.” 

Robbie’s not entirely sure if James is being facetious or not, but he’d lean toward not.

_____


End file.
